


things you should know

by vaguelyfamiliar



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2018 Stanley Cup Playoffs, Bromance to Romance, Curses, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Jeff Carter being a dad, Los Angeles Kings, M/M, Magical Realism, brief mention of the tragic cartsrichie breakup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 02:26:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16232327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaguelyfamiliar/pseuds/vaguelyfamiliar
Summary: Tyler's barely scored just one goal in their last thirteen games. Tanner thinks he knows what's wrong.(He doesn't. Not quite.)





	things you should know

**Author's Note:**

> Below lies my highly-scientific explanation for why Tyler Toffoli sucked so badly at the end of last season. I exaggerate his point drought a bit, but just know that he did indeed suck ass regardless. It's okay, Tyler, with the help of some magical realism and my ability to do as I see fit in fiction, your play at the tail end of the 2017-2018 season can no longer be blamed on you at all. Aside from this, games and goals are described pretty much exactly as they happened in real life. 
> 
> Also, Tanner and Tyler are the cutest. [Here](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bme9fulB-iW/?hl=en&taken-by=catbtoffoli) [are](https://www.instagram.com/p/79BU99Q4cy/?hl=en&taken-by=tofff73) [some](https://www.dailynews.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/12/ax086_0abd_9.jpg?w=471) [examples](https://www.instagram.com/p/BVDzQlhBkSJ/?hl=en&taken-by=tannerjpearson) of why they're an underrated ship. However, that doesn't change that the following is a work of complete fiction. Tanner and Tyler both married their long-time girlfriends this past summer; congrats, boys! Hope you're not reading this.
> 
> Usually, I put links relevant to referenced real-life events in the end notes. This time they're embedded in the fic itself, because I think in this case you might want to see them as you go along. Not that anyone's reading this, because the National Hockey League and all of its followers tend to hate the Kings. Hopefully I can convert a few of you!

The Kings only lose [Game 1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cq4WkVTIjHw) against the Knights by one goal, but it aches as if they’ve already been knocked out of the series. The Knights had put one in their net just three and a half minutes into the first period, and the score doesn’t change for the entire 57 minutes of hockey they play after that.

It just sucks because Tanner feels like he’s tried with everything he has, and he knows the boys all feel the same. He’s not sure he’s ever played a game that was as simultaneously pointless and exhausting as that one. He doesn’t think it could get any worse.

He’s wrong, of course. [Game 2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d62-n42iYZc) goes to double overtime and becomes the longest game in franchise history. They play four and a half periods of much better hockey, and Quickie gives the performance of his life in goal, withstanding over 50 shots. Every single one of them leaves it all on the ice. They lose again anyway.

So they’re down 2-0 in the series, but at least they’re going home next. The team is in mixed spirits as they board the plane, and Tanner hears a few of the guys debating how impartial the NHL actually is when it comes to the Knights. “Look, I think it’s pretty fucking obvious that Vegas played better than us, but I also think it’s pretty fucking obvious that our penalties are getting called and theirs are being magically missed,” Brownie says.

Tanner nods, but it’s the kind of nod that doesn’t actually indicate whether he agrees or not. He’s not really sure himself. When teams are losing, guys always want to find something to pin it on, and maybe venting about the officiating is just that. He doubts Brownie actually means much by it. Anyway, Tanner is more focused on Tyler’s presence behind him as he climbs the stairs into the jet. Tyler hasn’t said a word since the game ended.

“I’d never discredit another team’s effort like that, but…” Kopi trails off in response to Brownie. Kopi’s ever the diplomatic captain, even when no public is around to see it. He heaves a sigh that matches the permanent dark circles under his eyes. Carts likes telling rookies that Kopi’s under-eye bags developed the moment he took the C and realized he’d be responsible for a team of idiots for probably the rest of his career. Tanner thinks Carts is ridiculous, because Kopi’s eyes look the same in pictures of him at like, fifteen years old.

“I fucking might,” Drew laughs bitterly. Tanner knows his one-game suspension was killing him, and it really was a tough break on a hit that was unintentionally wonky. They’ll be glad to have their defense restocked going into Game 3. “But whatever,” Drew shrugs off his anger as easy as he ever does. “We go get shit done next time no matter what.”

“That’s right!” Lewie says good-naturedly, collapsing into the seat next to Drew. “We’re going the fuck back to the South Bay, I’m gonna meet my fucking kids for the first time, and then we’re winning Game 3 on Sunday.”

Yet another round of congratulations breaks out among the team. Trevor’s wife had gone into labor early literally just after they left for Vegas. He has new twins waiting for him at home.  “You know you can’t say ‘fuck’ around your offspring, right?” Quickie asks dryly. “Better work on that.”

Brownie rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “This from the dude who said ‘fuck’ [three times within one minute](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JKFTi7YkrQw) on the NHL Network after winning the Conn Smythe.”

“Yeah, you hardly say anything _but_ the F-word,” Drew comments. “Are your kids, like, okay?”

Carts pokes his head into the aisle from the row he’s sitting in. “Of course his kids are okay, one of them is named after me.”

Quickie bites out, “Carter isn’t fucking named after you,” and then he buries his head in a book before anyone can point out that he just cursed again. Tanner doesn’t know how he gets away with it.

Tyler’s been quiet this whole time, still. Tanner drops into the seat next to him. “Hey, you,” he says, and smiles in hopes that it’ll coax the same thing out of Tyler.

“Hey,” Tyler responds in kind, but then he just turns his head to look out the window.

Well. At least he said something, if only one word.

Tanner shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Tyler doesn’t usually react to losses this way. In fact, he’s usually the one to pull Tanner out of his frustration or misery, keep them focused on what lies ahead rather than behind. But Tanner’s aware that what lies behind Tyler right now is a ten-game point drought and a worsening plus-minus stat. It would be tactful to say that Tyler hasn’t been playing like himself lately.

But Tanner knows Tyler. Tanner knows that Tyler had a good season up until recently. He knows that Tyler is capable of scoring off the faceoff with [less than a second](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_2dpVbxmhY) left in game, is capable of hat tricks, is capable of picking up the slack when other players are having bad seasons. He wonders if Tyler knows this about himself.

“Toff,” he says, trying not to sound like he’s pleading. “It’s gonna be okay, you’ll see.”

Tyler nods, but it’s the same nod Tanner gave Brownie earlier. The one that means he doesn’t actually know if that’s true.

So Tanner can’t stop himself from giving Tyler surreptitious looks for the rest of the flight. Now that he’s taking the time to observe him, he realizes that Tyler just _looks_ as off-kilter as he’s acting. He’s napping against the plane window, but there’s a worried crease between his eyebrows and his face is abnormally pale. He’s shivering despite the sweatshirt he has on, almost as if he has a cold.

It occurs to Tanner for the first time that Tyler might have caught a curse.

Tanner has never caught a curse before, so he’s not that surprised he missed it until now. Curses in real life don’t work the way they do in old fairytales. No one has to cast them or wish them upon you; you catch them. They’re somewhat like illnesses because you get common cold symptoms along with whatever further-reaching negative effect the curse has. But they’re not exactly like illnesses, because they’re not contagious. A lot of people talk like curses are some sort of deserved punishment, seeing as people usually get them because they’re acting immorally in some way, maybe because they lied or they cheated or they were rude. But often the impetus is so minor that Tanner feels that’s too harsh a judgement. You only really bring curses upon yourself in pretty much the same way that you bring sicknesses upon yourself: you forgot to wash your hands when you should’ve, or you drank out of someone else’s water bottle—small mistakes that don’t fully warrant the shittiness of the result they bring.

But Tyler hasn’t told anyone that he has a curse, even though it might be stopping him from playing his best hockey. And that might mean that he’s actually ashamed of whatever he did to catch it.

 

\---

 

Tanner attempts to bring it up with Tyler the next day at morning skate. It goes poorly, to say the least.

When Tanner gets to the Toyota Center for practice, he sees that Tyler’s car is already in the lot. He comes into the locker room with what he hopes is an innocent and unassuming expression. Tyler has most of his gear on and is just lacing up his second skate, but his fingers are trembling a little from what must be the curse. Tanner announces himself by crouching, taking Tyler’s calf in hand to pull it over his own knee, and lacing it up the rest of the way for him.

“Thanks,” Tyler says. He’s smiling slightly, so Tanner thinks things are going okay so far.

He decides to just go for it. “So, what kind of curse do you have?” he asks point-blank.

Tyler’s face clouds immediately. “Who says I have a curse?” he denies, but it falls flat because he’s not meeting Tanner’s eyes. God, Tanner wishes he would. It feels like ages since they’ve made any lasting eye contact. It’s something Tanner didn’t realize he could miss.

“I do,” Tanner tells him. “I say you have a curse, because you look sick, and you’re getting pretty cagey right now.”

“I’m not _cagey_ ,” Tyler insists, and then he stands and hobbles off on his skates toward the door, without another word.

“Come on, man,” Tanner mutters to Tyler’s retreating back. The only other people in the locker room this early are Fallsy, Kopi, and Marty. They’re each seated far enough away that they can’t have heard the entire conversation, but it would’ve been pretty hard to miss Tyler storming out, so they give Tanner sympathetic looks.

“Maybe he finally realized how weird it is that you know what time he goes to sleep,” Marty chirps to lift the tension.

“Shut up,” Tanner laughs begrudgingly. No matter how much shit the team gives them, it’s definitively not weird that Tanner and Tyler [played the newlywed game](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sS9-r-B3qYY) together for a scoreboard feature, and getting Tyler’s bedtime correct was a lucky guess.

Or, an educated guess based on what time Tyler usually stops replying to his texts at night. Same thing.

 

\---

 

The thing about curses is that they can only be gotten rid of by rectifying whatever it is you did to catch them. Occasionally, if you truly can’t figure out how to do that, they fade with time. But the Kings have a Game 3 to win, so Tanner can’t let Tyler be stubborn and mess around with waiting this one out.

He walks to Tyler’s house the next day, because they don’t have morning skate before the game. The sun is shining and Hermosa Beach glows under the attention, neighbors waving to him from where they’re soaking up the sun on their beach house porches. For the millionth time, he silently thanks whatever higher power has kept him in the South Bay for this long. It doesn’t really get better than this.

Tyler lives a mere six blocks away. Most of the team lives within spitting distance of each other, as close to the shore as they can get. Tyler has a particularly good rooftop for barbecues and beer, so Tanner hangs out at his as often as possible. He knows Tyler keeps a spare key in the potted plant marked with a little flamingo figurine, and he’s not afraid to use it.

Tyler doesn’t seem too surprised when Tanner lets himself in through the front door. He looks up from where he’s standing at the kitchen island and pauses chewing his oatmeal to sigh dramatically, but Tanner knows he’s not actually annoyed.

“Come to bother me?” Tyler laments.

“You’re stuck with me,” confirms Tanner. “Just like you’re stuck whiffing shots until you let me help you with this curse.”

Tyler’s shoulders slump, but that could be a positive sign that he might be surrendering to Tanner’s will. He doesn’t attempt to deny the curse theory this time.

“Look, Pears,” he says, scraping his spoon against the empty inside of his bowl. “I know I’m…a liability to the team right now. And it’s really chicken shit of me to keep going on like this, but—” he doesn’t finish the thought. Instead he tells Tanner, “It’s a lying curse.”

Then Tyler’s lied about something. Even more likely, he’s _been lying_ about something, seeing as lying curses are some of the most common, and they usually last until a person confesses whatever truth they’ve been hiding.

“That can’t be so bad,” Tanner insists. “What could be so awful that you’d refuse to be honest about it?”

But Tyler huffs and his head drops back in exasperation. “You don’t understand,” he tells the ceiling. “I really can’t say it.”

Tanner doesn’t think bullying him into it would work, nor would it be very nice. So he changes tacks and steps around the kitchen island so nothing but empty air is separating them. “Hey, it’s okay. As long as you’re not in danger and it’s nothing life-threatening, we can just take a breather until the game and figure it out together. You don’t have to tell me anything, but maybe I can still help.”

Tyler still has a blank look on his face like he knows something Tanner doesn’t, which. That’s the whole idea, isn’t it? Anyway, Tyler’s obviously not convinced, so Tanner tries laying a hand on his shoulder to reassure him.

It doesn’t have the effect he wants. Tyler colors up right away as if more distressed, his flush particularly apparent in contrast with his bright blue eyes. Maybe curses react badly to physical touch, or something. Tanner wouldn’t know.

“It would mess up the whole team,” Tyler says weakly.

He utters it so softly, it’s heartbreaking. Tanner doesn’t want Tyler looking this hopeless anymore. It’s hard on the both of them. “Grab your stuff,” he says, shaking the moment away. “We’re going to the beach.”

“Pears, we _live_ at the beach.”

“We’re going to the actual sand, dumbass. Come on, I bet some of the guys are out playing volleyball.”

Tyler snorts at that, so maybe he’s relaxing. “[Muzz and Forbs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NqLCUQBy_88), maybe. I guess we could go find ‘em.”

That counts as agreement to Tanner. They head out and make the quick trip to the shore, and it’s almost like things are normal again. They bump shoulders while they walk, and Tyler even lets Tanner give him [a piggyback ride](https://www.instagram.com/p/6wAuW-w4Uj/?hl=en&taken-by=tofff73) for a little of the way. Tanner can never carry him for that long, but they enjoy making people stare at a grown man carrying another grown man on his back. Tyler flips off everyone who looks at them for longer than three seconds, and Tanner cackles madly.

He has to put Tyler down before they make it to their usual beach volleyball court, but Tanner is feeling good and Tyler looks actually happier than he’s been. It feels like the closest thing to a win that Tanner’s gotten in the past few days.

Muzz and Forbs are indeed out playing when they get there, and so is Carts, who comes over and pulls both of them into his hold, one on each side. “ _Boys_ ,” he greets them.

“Dad, you’re embarrassing us,” Tyler says back, the words muffled in Carts’ nasty armpit.

“That’s what I live for,” Carts sighs wistfully. “My real kids are gonna get to an age soon where I gotta start embarrassing them for a living. I need the practice.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to humiliate your real daughters the way you humiliate your fake sons,” Tanner points out.

“And besides,” Tyler huffs when he peels himself free, “it’s not like we’re really brothers.” His eyes land on Tanner’s for only a fleeting moment before they drop to the sand.

Tanner shifts his weight and tries not to visibly react to that. _Brothers_ is perhaps not the word he’d use either, but...he and Tyler are close. They have been since they came up together. This just sounds like Tyler’s distancing himself from Tanner. Which is totally not cool.

Carts laughs. “Trust me, I know,” he responds, but Tanner isn’t sure what that’s supposed to mean.

He might get a chance to ask, because Tyler heads in to replace Carts in the ongoing game, and then it’s just Tanner and Carts. “Do you think Toff’s acting weird lately?” is the question that comes out instead.

Carts shrugs, looks over at Tyler as if to check. “Yeah, he’s been quiet. Shaky on the ice. Gotta be playoff jitters, eh?”

There’s a moment when Tanner considers ratting Tyler out on the whole curse thing, because he could really use some guidance even though Carts is still kind of dumb sometimes. But Carts is also their liney, fresh back from an injury that had him out most of the season. No one in that position wants to be told that their winger is willfully playing in a worse condition than he has to. And the last thing Tyler needs is a talking-to from Coach Stevens, or worse, Kopi’s disappointed face.

Tanner just has to solve it himself. Preferably within the next hour, before they need to get home for a pre-game nap and then take on the Knights in Game 3.

“Uh-huh, probably playoff nerves,” Tanner agrees. Maybe he’ll catch a lying curse of his own. But if he were going to, it probably gets cancelled out by the honesty that bleeds through his next thought. “I’m just worried, y’know? There’s a lot of…pressure on him. We usually talk to each other about that stuff. But lately he’s been weird around me.”

He’s expecting Carts to brush it off and say Tyler will get over it. Instead, he tilts his head and gives Tanner a look that’s way too discerning to belong on the face of _Jeff Carter._ Jeff Carter, who only so many years prior had a reputation for drinking himself sick, and had to be physically collected from his New Jersey hideout after he was traded from the Flyers to the Blue Jackets. That might as well have been a lifetime ago back in Philadelphia, especially considering how solid Carts has been for the Kings since he came, but legends never die.

“Look, sometimes things can get weird, like you said, when you’re close with a guy like that.” Carts pauses, and then backtracks. “Not like, _bad_ weird. Just different. I’ve...I’ve, uh, been through it. And shit doesn’t always stay like that or work out for the best. But you should appreciate it for as long as you have it.”

Tanner blinks. He has mostly no idea what Carts is talking about, other than the fact that he’s probably _trying_ to talk about Richie. It must be important, though, because Carts never brings up Richie these days if he can help it. Still, Tanner doesn’t know how it translates to him and Tyler.

Carts goes on, “I wish I’d done some things differently. But I love Meg more than anyone I ever have, and I wouldn’t change where I ended up.”

“Right, sure,” Tanner shrugs before he processes. Meg, his wife. _Oh._

It hits Tanner like a punch in the stomach, like a hit with his head down while he’s crossing to center ice. Carts and Richie were _like that_. He’s talking like he thinks Tanner and Tyler are _like that_ , or could be. Tanner has never had a problem with that sort of thing, he thinks people should love whoever, fuck around with whoever. But he and Tyler, they just factually aren’t. In love, or even fucking around.

Now that Carts has put it out there though, it pings something in Tanner, some faint suspicion. _I really can’t say it,_ Tyler had said. _It would mess up the whole team._

The lying curse might make a lot more sense if Tyler likes guys. That could be the secret he’s protecting, the only thing he might think would shake the team worse than a curse that stops him from scoring.

Tanner hopes not. Tyler should know better than to think the boys would shut him out over something like that.

Carts gives him an unsure grin and a pat to the shoulder, then returns to the court to play. Tanner stays on the sideline and stares blankly, only hearing it faintly when Forbs spikes one into the sand and yells, “Toffoli sucks!” and Tyler comes right back with, “[Forbort is easily the worst human.](https://www.instagram.com/p/BdKCfbYHyct/?taken-by=adriankempe)” Tanner’s too in his own head to even chuckle.

He deserves the volleyball to the head that almost knocks him out a minute later. “Hey, dumbass,” Tyler calls. “Wake up.”

 

\---

 

Tanner goes with Tyler back to his house when they decide it’s time to leave. They need to rest before the game, and there’ll be shit Tanner needs to get from his house before he heads to Staples, but it’s okay if he stays with Tyler for a little bit.

“Nap?” Tyler asks when they get back, rubbing one eye as if he’s already looking forward to knocking out.

Tanner nods, and follows Tyler up the stairs to his bedroom.

It’s never been weird for them to nap in the same bed before, which they have when it’s been convenient. Tyler’s bed is giant, so it’s not exactly like they’re bumping elbows when they do it. Tyler has always stayed decisively on the right side of the bed.

And Tanner’s not uncomfortable now either, not when Tyler shrugs off his douchey bro tank so the smooth plains of his skin catch the light before he closes his curtains. Tanner takes the left side of the bed and waits for Tyler to take the other.

There’s nothing to be uncomfortable about, but it does feel a little more…loaded. Maybe because Tanner’s thinking about what this would look like if they _did_ like each other. He wonders if Tyler would roll into the center of the bed, closer to him. He wonders if _he_ would.

“Ty,” Tanner whispers even though there’s no chance Tyler’s asleep yet. “I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but. Who are you hiding something from?”

It’s quiet again for a moment. “Everybody, I guess,” Tyler mumbles into his pillow.

Tanner’s just one of everybody. But he is part of it. Which means Tyler’s lying to him too, in some way.

“Okay, well. I should tell you, there’s nothing—I mean, the guys, they have your back. I do too.” He hopes Tyler gets what he means when he says, “You could only ever upset me temporarily. You’d never lose me for real.”

Tyler hums noncommittally, like he thinks he could put that to the test. Tanner hopes he will, because then he’d see.

Tanner goes to sleep, and pretends Tyler isn’t shivering under the covers beside him.

 

\---

 

For most of the game, it really looks like they might win this time. Fallsy puts it in early, and even though the ref waves it off at first, it does turn out to be a goal for them. Tanner spends the next two periods trying to help Carts set Tyler up, but despite it all, Tyler is slipping, breaking his stick, shooting wide. Then the Knights score three in painfully quick succession, and they can’t catch up before time runs out.

And now Tanner _is_ mad. A loss can never be blamed all on one person, but Tyler is a talented fucking hockey player who looked like a clown on skates tonight. A couple months ago, Tyler would have put at least a few of those chances into the back of the net. Instead, the Kings are looking particularly keen to get to the golf course early this summer.

Tanner just has to find out if this is all over a guy. It’s very possible that’s not even it, that it’s a crazy idea that an offhand comment from Carts lodged in Tanner’s head unnecessarily. But if they lose Round 1 because Tyler is cursed out of scoring by something as inconsequential as hiding that he’s into dudes, Tanner will lose his shit.

Tanner corners him in the parking lot after morning skate the next day. Tyler had been weak in practice, and everyone’s starting to pick up on it now. If they’re going to make it out of this series without getting swept, every single one of them needs to be at 100%. They’re all a little more gassed than that, but Tyler’s sitting at about a 45%, breathless and sneezing and uncoordinated. It pisses Tanner off because it could all so easily be _fixed_.

“Why are you following me?” Tyler asks him, irritable from a poor practice. He’d stayed on the ice longer than everyone else and still barely put shit past Quickie.

“Listen,” Tanner levels with him. “I’ve tried to be patient, and I’ve put up with this whole woeful act you have going on. And maybe it’s not just me you’re lying to about whatever it is, but if telling just me could help this curse, alleviate it even just a little? How do you not feel safe enough to do that? How do you not trust me?”

“You have no fucking clue,” Tyler bristles. He’s glaring at him now, which Tanner knew would happen, but it still looks wrong on his face. Tanner has a bad feeling, but he keeps pushing.

“Are you gay?” he blurts.

“ _What?_ ” Tyler demands, practically spitting. “No! I mean, I—” He’s interrupted by a hacking cough.

“Stop lying, you’re hurting yourself,” begs Tanner.

“That’s not a lie! I had a girlfriend for three years, and you think it was for show?”

“Some people do that.”

“Not me,” Tyler insists. “I’m not _gay_ , or like.” He huffs, frustration clear. It occurs to Tanner that he’s never seen Tyler upset for such an extended period of time before this past week. Tanner misses his smile, his carefree attitude. “Only a little bit,” Tyler spills finally, unhappy about it.

As much as Tanner had been literally asking for it, he’s still thrown. “A _little_ bit gay?” he says weakly.

Tyler’s running at the mouth now, the dam broken. “Do you know what a shitshow it would be if anyone knew I liked someone on the team? I can’t just fucking say that!”

“On the team? Who?!” Tanner clamors.

Apparently that’s the line. Maybe Tyler hadn’t even meant to say it, because that...that _is_ a big deal. A big secret. “God, fuck you, Pears! What the fuck? What the fuck kind of friend does that? You can’t just blindside me like this, I’ve been trying to get you to leave me alone for days!”

This isn’t exactly going as planned. Or, rather, it’s possible Tanner didn’t plan it very carefully at all.

Tyler gets into his car, slams the door, and leaves Tanner in the dust as he speeds away.

 

\---

 

They lose Game 4, of course. No shit.

 

\---

 

Summer starts, then. It’s more like early spring, actually, because they’re that pathetic. Tanner and Tyler don’t speak for weeks, despite going home to Toronto suburbs that aren’t very far apart.

The time to decompress brings a sense of guilt that Tanner supposes he deserves. He can’t stop running it back in his head: the way Tyler had fumbled out his words, scrambling and scared, the betrayal on his face. How he’d admitted that he had feelings for a teammate, and now Tanner has probably thought about that for a composite total of hours, trying to figure out who it is.

They’re both going back to LA soon. Tyler hasn’t communicated those plans to Tanner, but he can assume because they always do come back for most of the off-season. Summer in the South Bay is too generous to miss. Tanner spends his time at home fretting over whether Tyler will forgive him when they’re sharing the same space again.

Tanner lands at LAX feeling more off-balance than ever. He can’t decide if it’s scary or relieving when he turns his phone off airplane mode and a text from Tyler comes through. _We should talk_ , it says.

Yes, they should. They should talk so Tanner can apologize, they should talk so Tyler can figure things out, they should be talking always because Tanner doesn’t know what to do with himself when they’re not.

It’s become a bit of an issue, possibly. Tanner has spent all of their time apart missing Tyler, thinking about him. He’s thinking about him now, on the drive back to his house from the airport.

Here’s the thing: neither of them is the kind of player that could grace the cover of GQ, or any magazine for that matter. Well, Tyler had made the cover of [Sports Illustrated](https://www.thesudburystar.com/2013/06/06/la-kings-toffoli-shows-sense-of-humour-about-si-cover/wcm/ae92fa9b-6599-4e30-9aac-ca047ec11039) once, in a photo of Marcus Kruger knocking him so far upside down he practically flipped right-side up again. Tanner had it blown up and hung on the wall of his basement. He even got Tyler to sign it.

Anyway, Tanner knows that neither of them looks like Tyler Seguin or Roman Josi. But Tyler’s colors, his ocean eyes and his pink flush, they’re so vibrant he looks like a painting half the time. The curl of his hair would certainly fit in a Renaissance work, based on what little Tanner knows about art. And Tanner himself might not look like much, but he’s the one Tyler chooses to spend all his time with. He can only hope that counts for something.

 _Just got home_ , Tanner sends back. _Come thru._

Tyler shows up fifteen minutes later, appearing from behind the front door Tanner left unlocked for him. He traipses carefully over to the couch, and he seats himself a measured two feet apart from Tanner.

It’s good to see him, even if it’s weird like this.

“Hey, you,” Tyler says.

“Hey,” echoes Tanner. His heart is skipping in and out of a consistent beat, unsure whether to be nervous or not.

“So,” Tyler begins, “summer training has sucked massively so far. I still can’t skate for shit. I think I catch crossbar for a living now.”

“Really?” Tanner asks, a rueful laugh escaping from his mouth. “Curse not fixed after all that confessing I forced you into?”

“No,” Tyler confirms. “Even though that really wasn’t cool.”

Boy, does Tanner realize that now. “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...y’know, done that.”

Tyler’s easy nod makes Tanner think there’s hope for this conversation to go north instead of south. “It’s on me too. There was a lot at stake for all of us, and I still haven’t been honest with you.”

Tanner waits. He thinks Tyler’s going to be honest with him now.

“And it is, um, you,” Tyler admits quietly.

“Me who you were lying to? Causing the curse?”

Tyler chews at his bottom lip. “Well, yeah. That.” His eyes drop to his knees, but then they creep back up. “But also…you who I have feelings about.”

Oh shit, oh fuck. Tanner doesn’t understand how he can know Tyler like the back of his hand and still never be prepared for him. This is such unmapped territory, but Tanner will play the Lewis to Tyler’s Clark any day of the week.

Tyler immediately segues into some sort of needless apology. “Ugh, I know that’s weird. I never wanted to have to say it, I was just gonna ignore it until it went away, but then I caught the curse for it. And everyone would want to kill me if I play another whole season like I played the end of last. I just didn’t want to push you away, but that ended up happening anyway.”

“First of all,” Tanner tells him, “it’s okay. It’s all okay. That’s the first thing you should know.” He has to gather himself before he can go on. “And besides that…Toff, you’re so far from alone feeling that way.”

Tyler’s eyebrows fly upward. “Are you serious?”

“I’m serious. Like, come on. You think I’m doing piggyback rides and taking naps with just anyone?”

The corner of Tyler’s mouth turns up. “I’ve definitely seen you fall asleep on Carts on the plane before.”

“Yeah,” Tanner concedes. “It’s different with you and me, though.”

Tyler’s smile completes itself then. “Okay. Guess it is.” He moves closer to Tanner on the sofa, settling in like he’s there to stay.

 

\---

 

They play their home opener in October against the Sharks. It takes until the second period, but as soon as Tanner’s shot rebounds off the boards to Tyler’s waiting stick, set up right at Joner’s front door, he knows [what’s going to happen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u0XEuZqaizo&t=3m11s). The goal horn blares, music to Tanner’s ears.

Tyler fist pumps all the way across the ice and back into Tanner’s open arms. Joner shakes his head at them in exasperation, just like he used to do when it’d been the three of them on the same team, staying late on the ice after skate.

They lose the game in overtime, but Tanner knows that’s just the first goal of many on the season for Tyler Toffoli. Maybe they won’t win the Stanley Cup this year. Maybe they won’t win the next year either. Maybe they’ll win it the year after that, or maybe Tanner will never touch the Cup again for the rest of his career. No matter which way it goes, he’ll have Tyler with him. And that feels like winning in itself.

**Author's Note:**

> That's all for now, folks! This isn't my best or favorite thing I've written, but I started writing it months ago as catharsis for my frustration at the Kings' postseason performance, forgot about it halfway through, then saw Tyler score off an assist from Tanner in the Kings/Sharks game a couple days ago and just had to finish it up.
> 
> A few intentional inaccuracies in this fic are the fact that in real life Carts has a daughter and a son rather than two daughters, and also in real life probably no one would be playing beach volleyball on the morning of a key playoff game.
> 
> Fun fact: Meriwether Lewis and William Clark named a land formation they came across during their expedition "Cock Rock" because it was particularly phallic. Sounds pretty homoerotic, and also like something Tanner and Tyler would do.


End file.
